The Intoxication Experiment
by Lurkch
Summary: Spock decides experimenting with intoxication is logical. His lab partner is, of course, the lovely Nyota Uhura. Unfortunately for Spock, he doesn't stand a chance at Human drinking games.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Thanks to SpockLikesCats for beta-ing (psst, check out her stories here under that name). Any remaining typos, mistakes and general goofs are mine alone.

**Star Date: 2256.340 7:12 pm**

**Old Date: Friday, December 6, 2256 7:12 pm**

**Location: Amanda Grayson's Beach House near San Francisco**

"Ready to get drunk, Commander?" Nyota Uhura asked as soon as Spock let her into the beach house. She breezed by him carrying a brown paper bag that clinked with each step she took.

Taking the bag from her, he watched as she took off her coat. Underneath she was wearing a long-sleeved aquamarine top and matching skirt that clung to her curves. Though it covered more skin, the dress managed to be more revealing than her cadet uniform. The knee-length hemline was still a great deal higher than Vulcan fashion norms but Spock had grown to appreciate this cultural difference.

He let his gaze linger while she hung up her coat. High-heeled boots rose over the tops of her knees, meeting the hemline of her dress. She flashed him a friendly smile as she bent down to unzip her boots. He decided the better part of valour was to take her purchases into the kitchen.

As he unpacked the bottles, Spock mentally reviewed the logical leaps that had led to this evening.

Determining the level of theobromine he could safely tolerate would be useful—it had been pointed out to him that one never knew when such information might be needed, perhaps even in the line of duty.

Having supervision in this experiment was logical—his previous experience with theobromine had convinced him of that.

Choosing someone discreet was paramount—he had no desire to endure the inevitable attempts to spike his food and drink should his susceptibility to theobromine become known.

And yet, despite this unassailable chain of logic, he could not quash the feeling that accepting Nyota Uhura's assistance was a bad idea—that combining Nyota, a bagful of alcohol and chocolate was _unwise_.

Ignoring his misgivings, he lined up the contents of the bag in front of him: vanilla vodka, dark chocolate hazelnut liqueur, lemons, sugar, and two small glasses. At the very bottom of the bag he found a box of chocolate truffles.

She joined him in the kitchen and made herself comfortable in a chair at the table. He looked over and found his eyes drawn to the fabric pulled taut over her breasts.

_Unwise_, he told himself again but the voice sounded very much like his father's so he ignored it. He held up the package of dark truffles and tilted his head.

She shrugged and smiled. "Impulse buy."

He considered the package for a moment before pushing it aside. Better to stick with a single source of theobromine to reduce the number of experimental variables.

Nyota picked up the medical tricorder on the kitchen table and pointed it at him. "What are you planning on doing with this?"

"Monitoring," he said, deftly plucking it out of her grasp before she could alter any settings. He determinedly ignored the tingle as their hands briefly touched. Unintentionally. Or so he told himself.

"We should discuss the parameters of the experiment," said Spock, calibrating his borrowed medical tricorder. The device was not in need of calibration but it was a convenient distraction.

Nyota crossed her legs and rolled her eyes. "Parameters?"

"Variables. Methodology. Sampling." He glanced her way, determinedly avoiding her breasts, and immediately regretted it. Her skirt had ridden up over her crossed legs, revealing a strip of bare skin between her skirt hem and the thigh-high socks that he had initially mistaken for leggings. He realized he was holding his breath and forced himself to exhale.

"Variables?" She prompted when his silence dragged on.

He pried his gaze away from her legs, which he had been staring at over the tricorder display, and cleared his throat. "Intoxicant levels, body mass, enzyme activity, delivery mechanism." He trailed off as he saw the smirk on her face. He wondered how it was that all females, no matter their species, managed to convey both skepticism and a negative assessment of a male's mental capacity in a single facial expression.

"What are you doing now?" She asked as he swept the tricorder over himself.

"I am endeavouring to establish a baseline of our cognitive and biological functions before we begin." He glanced at the tricorder display and dismissed the slight elevation in heart rate and respiration. Saving the scan, he held the tricorder out in her direction as she sat at the kitchen table. Spock watched the fabric of her dress ride further up her thighs as she shifted position and reminded himself, once again, that this was a bad idea.

"That's not how you figure out how drunk you are. Or who drank who under the table." She got up from the chair and came over to look around his shoulder as he processed the results of her scan.

"What is the standard method?" He said clearing his throat. Her scent was different than usual. _Perfume? Shampoo? _Whatever the source, it was distracting.

"Oh, there are lots of ways. We Humans are very creative when it comes to drinking games."

Her grin triggered a curious lightness in his chest. He took a deep breath and the feeling lessened. He was taking a lot of deep breaths lately.

"There's always the gold standard though."

"And that would be?" He stepped away from her to put the tricorder back on the table and get some distance.

"Last one conscious wins."

"That would be a single data point." _And highly subjective. Also uninformative._

"So?" She examined the two bottles that he had lined up on the counter. The labels faced the front and he caught her knowing glance in his direction. He stared her down. His attention to detail was logical and he refused to give in to her need for chaos.

"A single data point is insufficient to establish a continuum of intoxication."

"A what?"

"A curve."

"Hmm, well … let's see what's on your list." She picked up his PADD from the counter and peered at his notes. "What the—?" Her eyes narrowed as she read his notes. "Are you planning to give tests?"

"How else will we determine the extent of our inebriation at any given moment?"

She stared at him for what seemed an eternity and then determinedly gathered up his equipment—the hyposamplers, the medical tricorder, his PADDs—and stuffed them in the nearest empty cupboard.

"You won't be needing any of these."

"How will we monitor our state of intoxication?" He glanced at the cupboard wistfully and she stepped in front of it, leaning against the counter casually.

"We'll use tried-and-true methods for that."

"I did not find any established protocols in my literature search other than those involving elementary coordination and cognition exercises that are unsuitable for—"

"You did a literature search?" She looked at Spock for a moment before shaking her head. "Why am I surprised? Of course, you did."

She uncorked the bottle of dark chocolate liqueur and set up the shot glasses. "You can slice the lemons," she said as she rolled one across the counter to him. "I'll make us some Chocolate Cakes and explain drinking games to you."

Spock looked down at the lemon in front of him and frowned. "You are going to bake?"

"Shots, Commander. I'm going to pour us some shots."

Spock downed his fifth shot and bit the sugar-coated lemon wedge. The combination produced a fascinating flavour that was greater than the sum of its parts. Nyota had relented and let him have his PADD and medical tricorder back, so as soon as he finished the shot he recorded his vitals and observations. He looked at her pointedly until she made an entry on the PADD. If he was to have accurate data he would need objective observations about his own behaviour.

"This is … intriguing." Spock licked his lips and contemplated his shot glass. "Is that truly the flavour of chocolate cake?"

"You mean you've never had chocolate cake?"

"I have not."

"You," said Nyota tilting her shot glass in his direction, "have been missing out." She downed the shot in one swallow and bit her lemon wedge. Spock watched her eyes water. "Whoa. Don't breathe in between the shot and the lemon. Changes the flavour."

She took his empty glass, lined it up next to hers, and expertly poured them another round. "How have you managed this many years around Humans without having chocolate cake?"

Spock stared at his glass for a moment debating the wisdom of answering her question. When he looked up he found Nyota staring pointedly at his full glass. He drank his shot, took a breath, and bit the lemon. She was right about the change in flavour. It was not an improvement.

"When do you propose to begin measuring our state of intoxication?"

"Well, when you starting feeling drunk we'll start playing 3D chess."

Spock stared at the table where his shot glass had left a sticky ring of alcohol. Normally he would have the urge to clean it up and restore order; at the moment he was seriously entertaining the thought of licking it.

_Interesting._

"How will this measure our state of intoxication?"

"We've played 3D chess before, right?"

"Yes, on several occasions. Most recently—"

"'Yes' is enough." Since becoming his teaching assistant, she had developed the habit of cutting him off during some of his explanations—he was slowly learning when to expand on a statement and when to let it go.

"Yes," Spock said dutifully although he was more amused at her tone than chastened.

"Have I ever won?"

"No. I am a grandmaster while you have only recently started playing. Even under my tutelage it would be remarkable if you—"

Nyota drummed her fingers on the table. Her nail polish was silver tonight.

"'No' is sufficient?" Spock ventured.

She smiled and asked him, on average, how many moves it took him to win a game against her.

"Nineteen."

She tipped her head to the side, considering the low number, but he simply stared at her fixedly. She moved on. "Would an increase in the number of moves needed to win be a measure of how drunk you are?"

"Ah. Yes, I believe so." Spock thought for a moment. "Will your abilities not also decrease due to intoxication?"

"_I_ knowwhat _I'm_ doing."

"That's 29 moves, Commander." The amusement in her voice was clear even to a Vulcan.

"And yet you still have not won." His pride was only somewhat soothed by this fact as he was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain his supremacy in the game.

"But I will." She held his gaze confidently as they reset the board. "Ready to admit that you're drunk?" She rolled a white pawn between perfectly manicured nails—the light reflected off their mirror-smooth finish.

"Perhaps." He continued staring at her nails and realized that he had lost his train of thought. "Marginally."

"Right," said Nyota, drawing out the word. "How about we make this more interesting?"

"What do you propose?" He set down his knight in its designated spot and gave her his full attention.

"Strip 3D chess."

"Explain."

"If I capture one of your pieces, you give me something you're wearing."

His eyebrow crept up toward his bangs until the obvious question occurred to him. At which point his eyebrow rejoined its twin in shrewd contemplation. "I see. And if I capture one of your pieces?"

She merely smiled at him and placed her pawn in its square.

_Interesting_. The fact that this did not seem like a terrible idea should have warned him that he was already highly intoxicated.

"How is the winner determined?"

"I'm sure you can figure that out. Follow it to a logical conclusion." She leaned back in her chair and waited for him to make his move.

"It would be inappropriate for me to see you in such a state of undress." _Inappropriate, but not undesirable_. "As a superior officer." He moved his King's pawn as his opening move.

She looked at him pityingly. "What makes you think you're going to win, Commander?"

"I am a grandmaster."

"You're a grandmaster sober," she corrected as she responded to his pawn.

"Sober," Spock agreed amiably.

He found himself wondering what, exactly, she was wearing under her dress and how many pieces he would have to capture to reveal it. He arrested that particular train of thought when he noticed a small smile playing on Nyota's lips as she watched him. He had the unsettling feeling she was thinking exactly the same thing about him.

_She is correct, you are intoxicated._


	2. Chapter 2

Nyota let Spock make the first move. She knew she would be the first to lose pieces—and clothing—but she was not worried. After a certain amount of clothing came off Spock would start to lose his concentration. Guys always did. Too bad there was no money involved but she was pretty sure Vulcans did not gamble. Besides, she did not want to take advantage. Much.

As they played she wondered whether it was true that Vulcans living on Earth took layering to a whole new level. Spock never looked like he was wearing excess layers under his uniform and tonight he looked positively _defined_ in his earth-toned sweater. His black dress pants were thinner than those of the Starfleet uniform and accented his rear assets very nicely as well, she thought. Not that she had checked him out as he walked to the kitchen—well, not much.

While she was fantasizing about having a pile of his clothing on her side of the table, he captured her first piece and sat back, his fingers steepled on the table, waiting to see what she would do.

She stood up and pretended to think about what piece of clothing to remove even though she had worked out the sequence before they set up the board. She fiddled with her earring and suppressed a laugh at Spock's expression. Clearly he was hoping for something more substantial. _Impatience—that's new_.

She worked her way down, toying with the fastening of her skirt and her bracelet, before slowly inching up the hem of her skirt. He was watching her intently and she took advantage of his undivided attention. She was surprised to find that he seemed to enjoy being teased. She put her stockinged foot up on the table, letting the hem of her dress ride up her thigh. Slipping a finger under the band, she worked the stretchy silk down her leg, leisurely pulled it off her foot and dangled it in front of Spock. When he did not reach for it, she dropped it in a silky pile in front of him.

Mission accomplished, Nyota sat down and examined the board in search of her next move.

"I believe stockings are considered a unit of two," said Spock interrupting her musings. He was fingering the discarded stocking and using his instructor voice—the tone of disapproval usually reserved for students who were trying to get away with something.

"What?" Nyota frowned at the board as the series of moves she had been visualizing scattered at the interruption.

"As one would not put on one stocking without the other, does it not follow that one would not remove one without the other?"

She looked up from the board and stared at him incredulously. "You want the other one?"

_He's trying to logic you out of more clothing ... makes you wonder how he uses logic during sex doesn't it? _

_Don't think about that. _

_Too late._

"Pardon?" She said, realizing that he had said something and she had not heard a bit of it.

"I believe it is only logical. And equitable." His voice was, as usual calm, but he avoided her gaze when she looked over at him.

"You wear stockings as a set, but you put them on—and take them off—one at a time," she countered. She furrowed her brow as she contemplated the board. "I'll tell you what though. You can have the other stocking," she said, looking for a piece that would take some time to capture, "when you capture that knight."

"Is it customary to assign items of clothing to pieces?" He asked, running a hand through his hair. It immediately fell back into perfect order and Nyota wondered what exactly it took to make him look rumpled.

"It's up to the player what clothing to remove and when." She grinned as a thought occurred to her. "Although if you want to assign pieces of _your_ clothing to chess pieces I'll go along with that."

"I believe I will pass. It is still your turn."

"I know. Someone interrupted me."

That earned her an eyebrow raise but he sportingly watched in silence until she made her move.

Spock did not capture the "stocking knight" right away, but he did manage to capture three other pieces despite downing two more shots. The fact that this yielded nothing more titillating than a pair of earrings and the matching bangle earned her a petulant look that only encouraged her to keep needling him. He tried the argument that jewelry did not qualify as clothing. She countered that anything you were wearing qualified. He pointed out that earrings were a pair. She reminded him that he had already lost that particular argument.

"Besides, I wouldn't want you to think that I'm easy," she said lightly as she moved her rook. When she looked up he was staring at her with raised eyebrows. Her face heated as she realized that he had caught the double entendre. His vernacular was so hit and miss that it was hard to predict which expressions he would understand. "Easy to beat, I mean."

His smirk was more pronounced than he normally allowed himself. She was pretty sure that he knew exactly what she had meant.

_Wonder who taught him that expression._

He did manage to get her other stocking but his victory (and, to be fair, an additional shot) made him careless in the next round and he finally lost a pawn.

"Nice try, Commander," she said as he contemplated the board for his next move.

"Pardon?"

"Strip." That only prompted him to frown so she reminded him that he owed her some clothing.

Understanding dawned in his eyes but he still did not move. After a moment Nyota realized that he had not thought ahead about which piece of clothing he would take off first.

"What's the matter, Commander? Didn't you think you'd lose any pieces?" She was a little insulted—after all, he might be that good of a player but she was not that bad of one.

"It was not foremost on my mind," he said, a faint green tinge darkening the tips of his ears.

"You're not going to back out on me are you?"

"No." He frowned and got a faraway look. "I am merely ... strategizing."

He reached under the table and removed a black sock. He did not put the same fanfare into it as she had as he handed her the limp wool. Still, it was a start.

In quick succession, Spock lost his other sock, his belt, and his sweater. He smirked when he noticed that she was disappointed that he was wearing an undershirt.

_Drunk Vulcans are cocky_, she noted. _You are so going to lose, Mister._

"Interesting strategy," she commented as he handed over his sweater. It was still warm with his body heat and smelled faintly spicy. She caught herself burying her fingers in the soft silk and forced herself to drop the clothing in a careless pile on the table beside her.

"How so?" He cocked his head to look at her but the change in perspective must have set the room spinning because his whole body listed and he clumsily righted himself. "The goal is to retain the most clothing, is it not?"

"I'd rather look at it as making your opponent lose the most clothing."

"I fail to see the distinction," said Spock, frowning.

"I know." She smiled as he captured another of her pieces. "Keep thinking about it."

Nyota stood up and made a show of shimmying off her skirt so Spock could get a good look at her forest green boy shorts with black lace trim. The colour was an intentional choice—the green of Vulcan blood, and hopefully "passion," as red was for Humans—though she would deny it if asked. She handed him her skirt over the table and sat down, trying not to laugh as he reflexively folded it neatly before adding it to his little pile of stockings and jewelry.

Sure enough, in the next few minutes Spock was distracted enough that she managed to snag another of his pieces. This time he did sacrifice his undershirt, leaving him bare-chested except for a copper-coloured pendant on a black cord.

Nyota did her best to ogle discreetly as she contemplated her next move. She had seen him at the Academy pool one day but still wasn't accustomed to the olive tinge of his nipples. In fact, she was so busy contemplating green blood and what it meant for his anatomy south of the equator that she overlooked a possible countermove and allowed Spock to capture another of her pieces. His hands clenched briefly as she stood up and grabbed the hem of her top.

She paused for a moment, even though there was no chance of his attention wandering, and made eye contact before slowly pulling her top up and over her head. As the fabric covered her eyes she decided that she really must be drunk to be doing this. She had played this game before, but with friends, not with ... even her xenolinguistic skills could not help her define what she and Spock were to each other. They had drifted past friendship at some point and into undefined territory. She pushed the thought away as she pulled her top free and she could see again.

Spock's eyes had drifted downward and he took his time looking up lazily to meet her eyes. If he was having second thoughts he was not showing it. He was definitely having thoughts though.

Emboldened, she leaned over the table and handed him her top but Spock's attention was somewhere south of her face. He did not take her top until she shook it to get his attention. She was sure he was blushing—she had never seen his cheeks that green before—but decided not to call attention to it, no matter how satisfying it would be to tease him, in case the spell broke and they both started to wonder what they were doing.

He folded her top while she decided on her next move. When she looked up after moving her piece, she assumed that he was contemplating the chess board. Only when he did not immediately react to her move did she realize that he was looking through the levels of the board at her.

"You're looking." She made a hand waving motion indicating her scantily clad body.

"It would be illogical not to appreciate aesthetic beauty when presented with such."

"Oh." She felt the blood rush to her face and hoped that he was too distracted to pick up on it.

"Contrary to popular belief, Vulcans are not asexual," Spock said drily as he surveyed the different levels of the chess boards.

"I know."

His eyebrows rose in tandem and he looked up at her.

"Baby Vulcans have to come from somewhere, right?"

"Ah." said Spock returning to studying the board. "Yes, sexual reproduction is the most common method."

Nyota laughed but Spock determinedly stared at the board and ignored her. Feeling somewhat self-conscious, she got up and went over to the kitchen counter. On her way she caught him watching her out of the corner of his eye so she made sure to put an extra swing in her step.

She unwrapped the truffles and opened the box, picking out a truffle and popping it in her mouth. As it melted she took a moment to get a good look at him. For all the shots of alcohol he had knocked back, his posture was only slightly less rigid than usual.

_Very nice musculature though_, the more lascivious part of her brain observed. And it was: the Vulcan equivalent of a six-pack was more like an eight-pack but she had no complaints about that. A nice lean waist below that and his pants pulled tight across his firm butt. It was a good thing that the truffle had mostly melted at this point because she took an involuntary breath when she realized the reason his pants were stretched so nicely across his backside was that they were tented prominently in the front.

_That is impressive. Guess you can't tell what a Vulcan has in his pants by what he looks like in his Starfleet-issue swimsuit. Wonder where he keeps that the rest of the time._

Spock moved his chess piece and then looked across the table at her empty chair. She watched as he frowned at her absence and scanned the room, eventually finding her at the counter.

"Truffle?" She asked cheerily, extending the box toward him. He did not answer but watched her intently.

"It is your move," he said, scowling.

"Right." She took her place at the table again setting the truffles down between them. She could see the trap that he was laying for her on the board but in his impatience to capture another of her pieces he had left one of his unguarded. In a regular game of chess, the sacrifice of his pawn would be inconsequential. In strip 3D chess though all pieces were equally valuable. She made her move and palmed his unfortunate pawn.

"You owe me a piece of clothing."

"It would appear so." He reached up and pulled his pendant over his head. Instead of dangling the necklace from the cord so that she could take it without touching his hand, he surprised her by cradling it in his palm so that she had no choice but to brush his palm with her fingertips as she took it. She felt a strange warmth that had nothing to do with temperature at the contact.

While he turned his attention back to the board, Nyota examined her acquisition. Now that she had the pendant in her hand she could see that the colour was brighter than copper and the weight was far greater than she expected. The design was one she had not seen before: a tilted silver triangle superimposed on the coppery circle and a small blue gemstone at the triangle's tip.

"Nyota, it is your turn."

She looked up to see Spock looking at her, his expression unreadable. She studied the chess board and realized that she had missed his move entirely. A glance at Spock told her that he was not about to help her out with any hints; the stakes were too high.

"I didn't know you wore jewelry," she said, stalling for time while she tried to figure out what had changed on the board.

"It is an IDIC," Spock volunteered. Seeing her blank expression he explained, "it represents the concept of Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations."

"I haven't heard of that."

"Neither have most Vulcans," said Spock under his breath.

Nyota made her move and the conversation stalled as Spock turned his attention to the board. As he was moving a piece and determinedly not looking at her so that he could concentrate on the game, he said her name.

When she looked up into his eyes, dragging her gaze away from his pecs, he said, "You were looking."

She laughed and did not deny it. "As you said: it's only logical."

He smiled slightly at this and made his move but he was losing the game and they both knew it.

She captured another of his pieces and waited expectantly.

He did not move to remove his pants. In fact, he looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"Come on, Commander. It's just like walking around in a regulation swimsuit."

_And just as revealing._

"That assumes that Vulcans subscribe to the Human custom of wearing underwear."

Nyota's mouth went dry and she reflexively reached for her glass before deciding that more alcohol was probably not a good idea.

"You're telling me that you have nothing on under—"

"I do not."

"You do have a problem." She watched him silently for a moment. As entertaining as this had been, this was a line that she did not want to cross on a whim or a bet. Not to mention that she would still have to face him Monday morning as his subordinate. "How about you concede and I let you keep your pants?"

"Agreed," Spock said hastily.

"And?"

"You have, indeed, 'drunk me under the table.' Are you satisfied?"

"You have no idea." She gathered her discarded clothing as she got up from the table and left him sitting there pondering his defeat.


	3. Chapter 3

"Well, so much for chess," said Uhura as she joined him in the living room. He had sought refuge in an overstuffed armchair that his mother had bought precisely because it was so unlike the furniture at their home on Vulcan. Tonight he favoured it because it precluded Nyota sitting next to him—an unnecessary temptation. The chair also allowed him to sit with one knee bent under a strategically placed afghan that both kept him warm and obscured his arousal. Nyota had managed to reconstitute most of her outfit on a trip to the bathroom, the only casualty being her stockings. No doubt because she could not locate the one Spock was fondling under his blanket. For reasons he was not prepared to examine he was not inclined to enlighten her as to its whereabouts.

"Indeed. You have educated me as to the reason for substance abuse testing at the Interstellar Chess Federation events."

"They do drug testing at chess events?" She paused in her perusal of his mother's bookcase to look over at him.

"Yes. Although they are ostensibly looking for performance-enhancing drugs, which choc—alcohol is not." He looked over at her to see if she had caught his slip but she was engrossed in the books. He was familiar with all the books on the shelf though they belonged to his mother. Nyota gravitated toward the small selection of books in Vulcan and he amused himself by mentally calculating the probability of her selecting one over another. Eventually her curiosity got the better of her and she pulled a volume from the shelf, one that Spock had calculated a 78% chance that she would be drawn to.

"Poetry?" She held up the reprint of pre-Reformation passion poetry and Spock nodded. He watched her flip through the book, amused at her facial expression as she tried to decipher the ancient script system that was largely unknown to outworlders.

"Can you read this?"

He nodded and was surprised to be handed the book. She looked at him expectantly until he realized she was asking him to read it to her now.

"I can," he said, handing the book back to her, his fingers tingling as his lack of coordination let his fingertips graze her palm. "I choose not to." He had studied the book assiduously as a teenager for reasons other than scholarship. Perhaps he would share the erotic poetry with her someday. But not today.

"Anyone ever tell you that you're a cranky drunk?"

"Yes." He noticed her looking at him curiously. "You informed me of that the last time I was intoxicated."

"That's right!" She grinned and added, "Well at least we're both consistent."

Another consistency was that he was once again plagued by persistent sexual arousal. Doctor M'Benga had assured him that his previous priapism had been due to the effects of chocolate intoxication but Spock suspected at least one other contributory factor.

"Do you wish to suggest another manner of assessing sobriety?" He needed a distraction. Any distraction at all from the increasingly prurient thoughts battering his brain.

"Well, there are some games that only involve talking."

"I am amenable." He was, in fact, amenable to a great many things. All of which were ill-advised even by his own currently lax standards. Talking seemed relatively innocuous. But then that was what he had thought about 3D chess until very recently.

"Truth or Dare is pretty easy," offered Nyota, explaining the premise of taking turns coming up with a question or task for the opposing player to complete.

"What is the goal?"

"Good question," said Uhura settling herself on the couch kitty corner to the armchair. "I guess it's to find a question or dare that the other player isn't willing to answer. Or give up less than the other people playing the game. Or to ask the best questions or have the best dares."

"How do we begin?"

"Well, since I won the chess game, I'll go first." She grinned widely at him and seemed to be having entirely too much fun devising the first challenge. Spock wondered what exactly he had just gotten himself into.

"Truth or dare?" Nyota said looking at him expectantly. After a moment of awkward silence she explained, "You have to choose one."

"Ah. That was unclear." He considered the pros and cons of either option. He came to the conclusion that a dare might involve standing, which was not a position he favoured at the moment.

"Hmmm, truth," Nyota mused. She cocked her head and look at him contemplatively. "Does your family practice arranged marriages?"

Caught off guard, he stared at her incredulously. Her cheeks were flushed but he could not tell whether that was due to embarrassment or intoxication.

"That is a personal question."

"That's kind of the point. Those are the kind most people don't want to answer."

There was the question as stated and there was the implied question, each had a different answer. "Why would you wish to know this?"

Nyota shrugged. "You don't get to ask any questions until it's your turn."

"I see." He considered the question. _Cultural curiosity? Or personal interest?_ The question could be either but since she was being smug and unhelpful, he decided that he was within his rights to be the same. "Yes, my family follows the practice."

"Oh."

_Disappointment? Or simple acknowledgment of fact?_

"Your turn," she said, somewhat less enthusiastic than before.

"A moment. I am formulating my question."

"No."

"No?"

"That's not how it works. You have to ask me to choose first."

"Very well. Truth or dare?"

"Dare." She looked at him smugly.

"Explain the parameters of a dare."

"Mmm. Something the person has to do that they wouldn't normally do. Embarrassing. Out of character. Nothing dangerous or illegal. Not that I need to tell you that, right?"

He raised an eyebrow but did not comment. After a moment's thought he devised a challenge. "Recite the poem Desiderata. In Denobulan. With a High Romulan accent."

"I don't know the poem."

"You may use the PADD," he said, handing her the one he had been using to record his observations.

She crinkled her nose as she worked out the translation. "You know, there is no way to pronounce this properly with a High Romulan accent."

"Nevertheless, that is the dare."

"Okay," said Nyota drawing out the word doubtfully.

She gave the matter some thought, then stood. Spock watched as she recited the poem, her face contorting into the most bizarre expressions each time she was forced to mispronounce a word. Unfortunately for him, the dare did not have the desired effect on his libido as his theobromine-addled brain maddeningly decided that the effect was charming rather than grotesque. He must have closed his eyes as she struggled to translate a passage whose concept did not have an analog in Denobulan because the next thing he knew she was nudging him and he realized she had finished.

"Are you sure you want to keep playing? You could _concede_ and go to sleep."

That got him to open his eyes. One concession in an evening was his limit.

"I am awake."

"If you say so."

"I do."

"Okay. Truth or dare?" Nyota settled herself back on the couch.

"Dare," he said only belatedly remembering why he had opted to avoid that option earlier.

"I dare you to read me a poem."

_Ah_.

Predictable, but nevertheless he had failed to anticipate it. He made a mental note to ponder the implications … later.

She opened the book to a page with a stylized drawing of a couple engaged in coitus and handed it over to him. She was either unaware of the content of the drawing or undeterred by it. With a blanket over her shoulders, she kneeled down by his armchair. The poem she had opened it to was about the consummation of unrequited love.

Spock wondered if the choice was deliberate but decided that was unlikely given the significant differences in pre-Reformation script not to mention the vocabulary that was definitely not taught to outworlders. He read the words, noting that his enunciation was impaired by his intoxication and deciding that was to his advantage.

When he was done, he leaned over the side of the armchair and handed the book back to her. "You seem disappointed. Was that not what you wished to hear?"

Nyota took the book but made no move to get up. "I don't think I understood a tenth of what you read."

"The vocabulary is not often needed for interspecies diplomacy," Spock said drily.

She stared at the book's pages as if willing the script to translate itself. Spock found it rather endearing that even while drunk she would stop to study a language. "Translate it," she demanded trying to hand the book back to him.

"That was not part of the dare," he said, refusing to take possession of the book. Bad enough that his overachieving imagination was now fueled by the assortment of lascivious activities described in the poem. He was not going to have a discussion about them. Also, he was not entirely sure what some of them were even called in Standard.

He rested his head on the back of the armchair and closed his eyes. Even without visual input, the disconcerting sensation of the room spinning around him remained. He opened one eye to see her staring at him in surprise. More often than not he acquiesced to her requests. The fact that he had denied her one that she obviously thought reasonable seemed to perplex her.

"Hmm, you may never have played this before but you sure remember the rules when it suits you."

Spock raised an eyebrow at her. "I believe it is my turn."

"Truth."

He mentally composed and discarded half a dozen personal questions before settling on the one that had been frustrating him for some time but that he had never asked because it strained the bounds of propriety. Not that it stopped a number of male cadets and a few female ones from speculating based on conversations he had overheard in the halls of the Academy.

"You have a reputation for focusing on your studies to the exclusion of romantic or sexual relationships. I have come to two possible conclusions: you do not engage in such relationships or you are preternaturally discreet."

Nyota blinked at him for a moment. "Is there a question in there somewhere?"

Spock frowned and realized that he had, in fact, not asked a question. "Which conclusion is accurate?"

Nyota narrowed her gaze. "Neither. My turn."

"Your answer is insufficient."

"Okay, both."

"That is not an improvement."

"Technically, I answered your question. But since you're new at this game: I'm picky. And I know how to keep my business to myself. So, both. Now, truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Chicken."

Spock frowned at the non-sequitur for a moment and then just raised an eyebrow at her when he figured out the context.

"Fine. Tell me a secret about you," said Uhura wrapping herself in a blanket and curling up on the couch with her head on the armrest.

"That is not a question," he said as he tried to figure out whether his digestive system was more or less displeased with his eyes closed. At least the room had slowed its rotation.

"Tell me something that no one knows about you."

"A secret shared is not a secret," Spock pointed out. His limbs felt like wet sand and it took all his effort to lift his head and look at her.

Uhura rolled her eyes at the pedantry as she peered at him over the armrest. "Tell me something few people know about you then. I dare you."

"I chose truth."

"I know. I'm daring you to tell the truth."

Spock thought for a long time, but kept returning to the fact that defined so much of his life. If she was already aware then she had never mentioned it, which was an unlikely amount of restraint on her part—therefore it was likely that she did not know. "I am only half-Vulcan."

"Right." Uhura drew out the word, clearly disbelieving him. He simply raised an eyebrow at her in return. "Really? What's the other half then?"

"That is a second question. You are allowed only one," he reminded her. "I believe it is my turn."

_Touch me_. Spock shook his head to clear the dare from his mind and hoped she would pick truth as no more appropriate dares came to mind. In fact, that was the least inappropriate dare his chocolate-soaked neurons had supplied him with.

Fortunately, she did choose truth and he managed to ask about something other than her sexual history—a feat, considering the track his mind was on.

"Truth or dare?" Nyota asked, yawning her way through the question.

"Truth," said Spock, relaxed in the armchair with his blanket.

"What's Pon Farr?"

The theobromine haze in which Spock had been comfortably floating dissipated. He lifted his head to look over at her where she was curled up on the couch. He had been expecting her to inquire further about his genetic heritage, not his biology.

"Where did you hear that term?"

"When I took you to Medical the last time you were drunk. You were convinced you had it. What is it?"

"A medical condition."

"Nice try."

Spock looked at her for a long moment. The mere fact that he was considering the parameters of the such a conversation proved he was too intoxicated to continue. "I concede the game."

"You're kidding." Nyota sat up and peered at him over the end of the couch. Seeing the look on his face she decided that he was, in fact, serious. "Okay."


	4. Chapter 4

The picture cube Nyota had picked up off the end table flared to life in her hands. Images glowed on each face and there was the sound of a child shrieking and then a woman's laughter. Nyota flipped the cube around until she found the vid-loop that had been activated. The clip reset and after a bit of tapping she triggered it again. A Vulcan toddler was standing on a sandy beach, examining shells and stones and seaweed. Every time the water lapped at his toes, the toddler backed up and glared at the water much to the amusement of adults in the background. As the toddler crouched down to examine a sea star, he was almost swamped by an incoming wave prompting the shriek Nyota had heard earlier. The clip ended with a laughing woman holding the toddler who was giving the beach a look of betrayal over her shoulder.

"Is this you?" Nyota asked Spock, flipping the cube around looking for any other clips but finding only still images on the other panels. "Spock?"

She finally looked over and saw that Spock's eyes were closed and he was breathing evenly. Smiling to herself, she triggered the vid-loop again. Between the little pointed ears and the eyes she decided the toddler was Spock. The still images were of the same child at different ages in the same formal pose year after year. One image was of a Human woman and a dour-looking middle-aged Vulcan male in formal Vulcan dress. _His parents_, she decided. _Huh, h__e really was telling the truth._

She set the cube back down on the end table and picked up the medical tricorder Spock had been using all night and went to check on him. He was sprawled in the armchair, his entire body limp and boneless. _Well, almost all of it_, she thought, hazarding a glance at the tented afghan over his crotch. She was not sure whether he was just asleep or if he had actually passed out. She was also not sure what to do about it either way.

The least awkward thing to do would be to leave, but he might not be okay on his own. The medical tricorder seemed nonplussed by Spock's biosigns but the Vulcan—or rather, half-Vulcan—looked peaceful enough despite his frame being crammed awkwardly into the armchair. She was loathe to wake him up to check.

She settled for making sure he was warm enough and draped another blanket over him, tucking it around his shoulders. She let out a small shriek when Spock's hand clamped around her wrist.

"You startled me!"

By the look on his face it was mutual. He frowned but did not let go of her wrist, instead turning her palm up and examining it.

"I thought you might get sick or someth—" Nyota trailed off as Spock began running his free hand along the inside of her arm. Though his fingertips barely grazed her skin, she suddenly felt that odd warmth again and a rush of desire. Her nipples hardened into taut peaks under her top and her thighs were suddenly slick. Confused by her own reaction she tried to pull away but his grip was unyielding. At least his eyes were closed sparing her the embarrassment of having him see his effect on her.

She watched his eyelids flutter as he continued stroking her arm. Spock's nostrils flared and Nyota realized they were both breathing heavily. When his grip loosened slightly, she pulled her arm away. Startled at the loss of contact, he opened his eyes but his gaze was glassy and he looked right through her.

"Spock," she said and he looked up at her standing over him. "That was ... interesting, whatever it was, but I don't want you to hate yourself in the morning. Understand?"

He frowned and seemed about to say something but then his eyes rolled back under his lids and his head fell back on the armchair.

"Okay," Nyota said, wiping her hands on her skirt and glancing around the room. "_That_ was a little weird." Sitting down on the couch again, she gathered a blanket around herself and laid down with a last glance over at Spock who had begun snoring lightly.


	5. Chapter 5

Spock did not remember falling asleep, only that he was suddenly aware that his eyes were closed. They felt as if a thousand grains of sand were lodged under his eyelids. Both sets of them. He forced one eye open.

The sky was lightening. Morning had coming. Was come. Would come? His thoughts scattered and defied his attempts to corral them. His clothes, however, were neatly folded on the side table next to his chair. He did not remember doing this. After pondering the stack of clothes for a minute and noting that they were folded strangely, he concluded that his memory was not faulty and that, in fact, he had not gathered his clothing.

Another rumpled pile of clothing was strewn on the couch. Spock's vision was blurry and it took him several moments to realize that the clothing was, in fact, inhabited.

_Why is she still here? _

His recall of the previous evening was spotty. Certain moments were crystal clear, but the transitions were indistinct. He remembered Nyota in her bra and experienced a brief flash of panic at the implications before he remembered that they had been playing a game in which the loser removed items of clothing. Under his blanket, he was still clad only in the pants that she allowed him to keep. They were still uncomfortably tight.

On the couch, Nyota had co-opted a cushion for a pillow and was breathing softly. Her legs were bare and her skirt had hiked itself up during the night revealing the curve of her buttocks and the bottom half of the bra and panties he had seen last night.

The blanket draped over him did little to disguise the fact that intoxication caused the opposite of impotence in Vulcans. Relieved that he had awoken first, Spock wrapped the blanket around himself, scooped up his clothes and headed upstairs to the bathroom.

Spock turned on the shower and catalogued the problems that he had awoken with. It was difficult to make a list when the most urgent problem was pressing against his belly, demanding attention. Whether it was his lack of control over his thoughts this morning or a physiological reaction to intoxication, his arousal was not amenable to resolution through mental pressure.

He stepped into the shower and felt the ache in his muscles dissipate under the onslaught of hot water. He washed his hair and then his body but his erection persisted, becoming painful as images of Nyota in her lingerie infiltrated his brain.

He had given in to physiology and was fast approaching orgasm when he heard a knock on the bathroom door. Few things would have stilled his hand at this critical point, but this did.

"Spock? Are you all right?" Nyota asked from the other side of the door.

_Not now! Leave!_

He was trying to be quiet, but his breathing sounded unusually loud to his ears. No doubt she could hear him given her aural sensitivity.

"Spock? If you don't let me know you're all right I'm going to come in, okay?" There was a rattle of the doorknob as she tried the door.

_No!_

He tried to remember whether he had locked the door. The mental image of her entering and finding him stroking his abrun was equal parts mortifying and erotic—a dichotomy to ponder later. He heard her hand on the doorknob and a final warning.

"Do not enter," he managed before his body overruled him and he climaxed. He could taste blood where he had bitten down on his lip to stay silent.

"Are you sick?" Nyota asked with some concern from the other side of the bathroom door.

"Not precisely."

_Though a loss of body fluids is involved._

He decided that he must still be intoxicated.

Spock could hear Nyota waiting outside the door and he fervently wished that she would leave.

"Spock, do you want hot cereal or fruit and bagels for breakfast?"

"Both." _Neither, one or the other, whatever answer will make you leave._

"Okay." She sounded uncertain and lingered a few more moments. Spock felt somewhat guilty that she was concerned for his well-being. After an eternity he heard her walk away and her footfalls on the stairs. He breathed a sigh of relief and turned off the shower that had begun to run cold.

Breakfast was awkward. Spock's head throbbed and his stomach seemed to have forgotten how to function. He had forgone shaving, not trusting his dexterity this morning.

Nyota, on the other hand, was determined to make cheerful breakfast conversation. Spock tried to follow her thoughts on chemically-enhanced neural plasticity and language acquisition but all that he could think about was that she was his student, which led to thoughts of what he would do with her if she wasn't. Futile and illogical thoughts. He wondered whether he would regret this whole episode come Monday. More than he already did.

"I would prefer to observe Vulcan tradition for this meal."

"Would that be the no talking or the no eating with your hands?"

Spock was holding a bagel as she asked this and did not dignify the question with an answer. Mercifully, she stopped talking for the remainder of the meal.

On her way out the door, she exhorted him to "Feel better."

He informed her that it would be physically impossible to feel worse, which amused her, much to his irritation.

He now understood why hungover humans disliked those who were not suffering the same. And why a particular level of dislike was reserved for those who had overindulged and failed to experience the aftereffects, like Nyota.

"So, when are you going to do this again?" Nyota asked.

"Again?" Spock was regretting doing this even once. Repeating the experience had not even crossed his mind.

"Don't you need to do an experiment three times to get reliable results? Account for flukes and things like that?"

"That will not be necessary," Spock said turning just a little more green than he already was.

"Well, you're the expert on the scientific method. Oh, Spock—"

"Commander." Better to reestablish the proper relationship now to make it easier on Monday.

"Okay. Well, _Commander_, you might want to turn your sweatshirt right-side out."

Spock looked down and realized that his shirt was, in fact, inside out—a fact that could have been brought to his attention at any point during breakfast.

Nyota waved at him good humouredly as she left.

Spock closed the door and leaned against it, waiting for the pounding in his skull to subside. There would be no replicating this experiment to account for experimental error.

_Never again._


End file.
